Page 10 of Mornings By the Linden Tree
“Yes!” Penny shouted. They hugged as if they were old friends before joining in to sing along to a revamped version of “Old MacDonald.” My sight flitted from my niece to Penny’s mother. She smiled up at me, then offered her hand.
“Mona. Might as well sit and enjoy the songs.” Mona patted her blanket. I was torn. This was not at all my comfort zone, but Valeria seemed to be enjoying herself. She wasn’t crying for her mama or clinging to me as if I were the only life raft she could find amid a life filled with choppy seas. “Lennon does a great job. Just remember to drop a tip into his case when the sing-along is over.”
“Yes, yes, of course. Thank you.” I lowered myself to the blanket, smiled awkwardly at Mona, and spent the next forty minutes enjoying not only the adorable singer in the tacky top hat but the fact Valeria was smiling and singing. The dark cloud of loss and fear was gone for a few moments. A joyous sight indeed, for we both sorely needed the respite.
Mona offered me a cookie, which I declined. The girls feasted on oatmeal raisin as Lennon Cole pranced about like a court jester entertaining his young audience, and most of the adults in attendance as well, before strumming his final chords. He boweddramatically as everyone on blankets, and some who had just paused in their jogs or dog walking, clapped loudly.
When the show was over, I stood, thanked Mona profusely, and took Valeria in hand. I placed a ten-dollar bill in her hand and whispered to her to go put it into Lennon’s case as a tip.
“If I sing, will you give me money?” she asked, big brown eyes charming me far too easily.
“If you sing, I will give you a hug and a promise to come back next Saturday for another sing-along.” She squealed in glee and raced over to place the money neatly in his case. Lennon stood beside the battered case, talking to all who stopped. When Valeria gave him his tip, he went to one knee to thank her. They then fell into a rather long discussion as I bided my time watching one of eighty-five billion squirrels darting up and down the newly budded tree we’d sat under. Perhaps eighty-five billion was a bit of an exaggeration, but there were a ton of squirrels. They had few natural predators other than some hawks who discovered the easy pickings. His gaze kept darting to me during their discussion. When Valeria trotted back to me, she had a card in her hand that she passed along.
“Mr. Lennon says his eyeballs are happy from looking at you today.” She bounced up to her toes and rubbed her belly as my sight flew from her to the man in the dumb top hat. He met my look, smiled and tapped his hat, and then melted into the crowds leaving the park.
“Are you sure that was what he said?” I asked as I studied the business card with Lennon’s name and phone number on it. The card was flimsy, obviously not rich stock like my business cards, but it was certainly brighter. It took balls to hand out cards with a fat porcupine floating skyward holding rainbow heart balloons.
“Yes, he said he had happy eyes. Can we have popcorn?” I nodded dully as I slid the card into my back pocket. “Yay for popcorn! Yay for Lennon! Yay for happy eyes!” She sang as westrolled over to the frog pond eatery where I had coffee—as if I needed more—and Valeria settled for a bag of chips instead of popcorn, which she washed down with a soda. Sugar and salt for lunch. Caffeine for me. Yes, I was truly a stellar example of parenting. Might as well feed the child a banana split for dinner to cap off a week of pure ineptitude in child rearing.
I officially rescind every comment I ever made about how simple taking care of a little person had to be. It was not only hard, it was poopy hard. And that, according to my niece, was the hardest hard there was.
Chapter Five
“So that episode left us in dire need of hiring Collie again because this man is dogging around on his wife big time.”
“Okay,” I replied to Rissa as we sat at the breakfast nook in my sleek, clean kitchen. My chin rested on my right hand, my left held a cup of coffee, and a tiny child was sleeping on the bench with her head on my lap. The lines on the paperwork scattered before me blurred as I tried to recall why we had a collie on retainer. Did Timmy fall down a well? I snickered at my own internal pun.
“Wes, are you sure you want to go over the latest on Lawrence versus Lawrence today? You look kind of washed out.”
“I washed out my socks in the sink last night.” My sight left the blurry papers to land on Rissa, who was staring at me piteously. “I stepped in glue. We pasted macaroni on plates at three in the morning. It was fun.” My chin slid off my hand as sleep tugged at my eyelids. “Did you know glue sticks to things?”
Rissa gently pried the cup of coffee from my fingers. I blinked at the lovely olive-skinned woman trying to remove my non-alcoholic happy juice.
“Why don’t I get you some orange juice?” She took the lukewarm coffee, dumped it down the sink, and returned a few minutes later with a glass of pulpy juice. I startled awake when she touched my shoulder. “Here. Sip on this while I take this baby girl to her bed.”
“The bed is bad,” I warned her, but she lifted Valeria from the bench with ease.
I eyeballed the juice, took a sip, and grimaced. This would be much better if it were coffee. My sight drifted lethargically to the fridge, where my monthly printout of duties for Mrs. Polkowski now had bright green and blue crayon scribbles on it. If I tipped my head, the circular thing in the middle might be a bunny with severe cranial deformities. Crayons. Crayons. They were all over the house now. Every room had at least one crayon and one tiny sock in it. Even my personal bath, which had been a sanctum only my housekeeper entered to clean twice a week, now had crayons in the medicine cabinet. Why? Why did she feel the need to stash crayons everywhere? In case she was overcome with coloring fever while sitting on my toilet humming to herself while she pooped, perhaps. Why she had to poop in my bathroom instead of hers, I had no clue. Verily, I had little clues of any kind left. I was clueless. I was a Monet just as Cher had said in that old movie. Far away, I was okay, but up close, I was a mess.
Knowing I was a Monet was shattering. I let my head fall to the table, my forehead resting rather comfortably on Rissa’s beloved digital organizer. The padded cover was soft. I had no recollection of falling asleep, but I must have because sometime later my paralegal was shaking me gently. I sat up sharply, my sight flying around the room, totally bewildered.
“Why is there a dog on retainer?” I demanded.
“You mean Collie?” I nodded. She pointed at the juice still in my hand. “Collie is not a dog. Collie is Maxwell Collander, our private investigator.” She sat down across from me, looking far too put together for this time of day. What time was it? I checked my Rolex. Oh, it was nearly noon. Okay so she was dressed for a day at the office. That explained her dark hair being tidy and her suit being power.
“I knew that.” I emptied the juice in one long pull, then sat staring at the paperwork I’d snoozed on. Another divorce to wade through. Alimony and property woes to work out, a cheating husband, and a wife who prized her dogs over her spouse. Thankfully, there were no kids in the Lawrence household, just three little corgi dogs, so no custody battles would be fought. I hoped. Dogs had been bickered over before. It was amazing what a couple who had loved each other five years ago would fight over when the love went sour. Just another reason to avoid emotional nonsense, if you asked me. If you don’t give your heart away, you don’t have to be ready. No, that wasn’t right. It was if you stay ready, you don’t have to get ready. Speak the truth, Suga Free.
“Wes, look at me.” I glanced at her. She winced. “Man, you are a mess. I have never seen your goatee look so raggedy.”
“I’m experimenting with a beard.”
“Well, the experiment failed, Dr. Frankenstein. Look, Wes, we need to talk. What the hell is going on here? Why are you and Valeria not sleeping? What can I do to help?”
I truly did love the woman. “I love you,” I confessed. Her hazel eyes flared.
“Okay, you are beyond delirious. Go shower and shave. Go, do it now. I’ll be here when you come back down. Go. You smell like hot dogs.”
I sniffed my sleeve on the way to my room. Oh. I did smell like hot dogs. Must be the hot dog water I spilled over my shirt after I cooked some for us for dinner. It was either hot dogs or another massive tantrum to be faced. Currently, I was all out of spoons. Nary a spoon to be found in any of Wesley’s mental drawers. None. Nada. Not a teaspoon nor a soup spoon nor a slotted spoon nor a…a…well, whatever other kind of spoons there were. I had none. Two weeks of nightmarish nights had wiped me out.
